The Man from BEACON
by billie.bennett11
Summary: At the height of the Cold War, a mysterious criminal organization has plans to obtain nuclear weapons, so CIA agent Sun Wukong and KGB operative Neptune Vasilias are forced to work together to stop the evildoers in their tracks. Unfortunately, the duo's only lead is Yang Xiao Long, the daughter of a missing German scientist, whom they must find to prevent a global catastrophe.


The year was 1963. In the aftermath of World War 2, two great powers emerged- The United States and The Soviet Union.

The year was 1963. Germany and its capital city, Berlin, were split between American and Russian control. The US controlled the West; the Soviets had the East.

The year was 1963. It was a perfect summer in Germany, and, at the border between the East and West sides of the capital, a blonde in a suit approached the border crossing with a briefcase firmly in hand.

Noticing a nearby cargo truck, he made eye contact with the scarlet-haired driver and gave a slight nod.

Go time.

He set his briefcase gingerly on the desk of the crossing station and opened it, revealing nothing but layers of clothing.

With a quick glance into the mirror-like surface of a nearby car's rearview mirror, he noticed a towering figure a safe distance away, face partially covered by a low-brimmed hat, pretending to read a newspaper but staring at the blonde with analyzation.

The guard snapped the blonde man's briefcase shut and slid it back to its owner.

He slipped his fingers through the handle of the case, and, with one more glance to the mirror (the other man was gone), climbed swiftly into the backseat of a taxicab.

The blonde murmured the name of a street to the driver, who sped off into the territory of East Berlin.

He stared out of the window as the cab zipped through the streets of Germany's capital, as the low heat of the afternoon faded into the cool darkness of impending twilight.

"Here is fine," he stated to the cab driver, and as the car slowed to a stop, he slipped out of the taxi and headed through a low tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was a set of stairs, and as he clambered gingerly up them, he stopped a stark white cab at the street at the top of the steps, giving the driver his proper destination.

When he heard the sounds of a train rattling its tracks up above, he again exited his cab, this time heading into a shabby-looking building in the middle of East Berlin's slums.

There were cars all over the shop, multiple lifted off the ground, being worked on from the bottom and the top by repairmen.

He approached the nearest worker and lowered his eyebrows. " _Where is Ms. Schmidt_?" He questioned in German.

The worker pointed to a car a short distance away, sleek and shiny, painted black-and-white, with a long pair of jumpsuit-clad legs sticking out from underneath.

He closed the door to the workshop and approached the car, setting his briefcase on the ground. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and lowered his eyebrows.

" _I always thought the original 750cc engines were underpowered for their design. But this is quite the upgrade._ " He tapped the engine lightly and ran his hand over the cords attached to the gleaming silver pipes. " _Stick wings on that and you'd need a runway._ "

The figure underneath the car continued to work on the vehicle, but spoke with a light and feminine voice, surprising for a woman in such a masculine environment. " _Your accent is pretty good_ ," she commented. " _For an American._ "

He continued to examine the car as she slid out from underneath it. She snatched the towel he had picked up from inside the hood and glared at him.

"You look important," she noted in slightly accented English. "Or, at least, your suit does."

Her face was pretty underneath all the grease and engine oil, her lavender eyes keen, and the bright blonde wisps of her hair were held back by a purple scarf. The rest of her hair was tied into a bun on the back of her head, so as not to get caught by the gears and parts of her vehicle. With a smirk, she slid back under her car as he glanced up at the ceiling.

"Well, I can get you over the wall. Would you consider that important, Fraulein Schmidt?" He questioned, picking up his briefcase and heading over to her desk.

"A smart mouth to go with the suit. Statements like that can get you into a lot of trouble around here."

He sifted through the files on her desk until he picked up some old photos, and promptly seated himself behind the makeshift office space.

"Or, they can get you out of it."

With a huff, she rolled herself out from under the vehicle and sat up. "Make yourself comfortable, why don't you."

He tossed the pictures back onto the desk as she stood up. "Okay, Mr. Important Suit," she asked, resting one hand on the engine, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I'm here to have a friendly chat about your father."

She narrowed her lavender eyes. "I don't have a father."

"I don't mean your late foster father, the mechanic," he corrected. "I mean your real father. Dr. Taiyang Xiao Long. Hitler's favorite rocket scientist."

She looked at him and winked. "That doesn't sound very friendly. You're wasting your time. I haven't seen him for eighteen years."

"Well, after the war, he came to work for us," he elaborated. "He'd been enjoying the American Dream. He had a great job working for the U.S. nuclear program, a house in the suburbs, a new Cadillac, and a fat little dog called Zwei. Then, two years ago, he disappeared like steam from a tea kettle." He flipped over his briefcase and opened the opposite side, noticing, hidden between the folds of clothing, a small piece of technology no longer than a hairpin, with a glass half-circle at the top and miniature wires running through the inside. Holding the tech in one hand and a picture in the other, he held to photograph up to the woman. "Until now." The picture showed the back of a tall woman, a light-haired young man whose hair covered one eye, and an older blonde man, all standing near an expensive-looking car. "This was taken last week in Rome."

"Which one is supposed to be my father?"

"Funny. I'm told that if your father's knowledge gets into the wrong hands, things could get a little messy. You know, end of the world. That kind of thing."

"What makes you think I know where he is?"

"I don't think you do. But I think you know someone who does."

She raised one blonde eyebrow at him.

"Your mother's brother: Uncle Qrow. I've also been told that your father was never-" he dropped the hairpin-sized tech into a cup of coffee on her desk, effectively frying the wiring. "Actually a Nazi. He was forced to work for them. So I'm here to help him. Why don't you help me?"

"With what?"

"If I had 15 minutes," he sighed, "We'd drink tea, eat biscuits, I'd talk, you'd laugh, and we'd be on our way. Unfortunately, I don't." He pointed at the screened window and she glanced out. There was a towering man in a low-brimmed hat, hiding mostly behind a nearby wall, his head peeking out, just outside her shop.

"So my offer is, come with me now, and be at a chic little hotel in West Berlin in less than an hour. Or, stay here and spend the night with the Russians, hanging from a pipe, having your toenails removed."

She huffed and shook her head as he picked up a map on a nearby chair.

"That is what I was looking for." He pocketed a pen from the desk and turned back towards the woman.

"Do you mind terribly if I borrow your car?"


End file.
